


Iniquity

by Kissy



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, F/F, F/M, Humiliation, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 17:24:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1787098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissy/pseuds/Kissy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This short story tells the tale of a Grey Warden and her despicable exploits with her fellow travelers.  An ugly, angry tale. Mature tags for adult situations and sexuality/sensuality.  An exercise in first person narrative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iniquity

1

Maker…I seethed.

'Twas a month ago, no more, when Alistair told me of the true nature of our Taint. I sat before our blazing fire-pit, and seethed. I never thought it possible, but in that one moment, one hour after Alistair's confession, I hated Duncan with every fiber of my being.

Just one hour prior to that moment, I had woken from a dream tantamount to a hundred thousand bone-chilling nightmares. The Archdemon…it plagued my rest, invaded my mind, until I could stand it no longer.

I woke with a start, a scream locked behind my straining lips. My Warden, as always, was at my tent-flap two seconds after I struggled from sleep to give me comfort. He sat down on my bedroll, and touched my ankle. "Nightmare?"

"Yes," I said. "How did you know? I didn't make too much noise, did I?"

He shook his head slowly. "No. I've been watching you for a while, now. We all go through this, at one point or another."

"We…you mean the Grey Wardens?"

He screwed his lips together, on the horns of a dilemma. "Yes. Because of the tainted blood we drank during the Joining, we…well, we have a bond with the Archdemon. The Archdemon and its Darkspawn have a kind of hive mind. We are connected in some way to them, but they can see us, too."

My head spun with the implications. "We drank Darkspawn blood to forge a bond with our enemies…but they see what we see…isn't it dangerous for the Archdemon to have such a bond with us?"

He glanced sidelong at me, unsure how to continue. He licked his lips fretfully. "You don't know the half of it, yet."

I sat up in my bedroll, and cocked my head at him. "That's why you're here with me…why you have been watching me, isn't it? What Thedas-shattering news do you have to tell me?"

He gazed at his hands as they twisted in his lap. "When we drank the blood, we…signed our own death warrant. Once the Taint is in our body, we have but thirty years to live. No more."

I blinked at Alistair, aghast. _"What?"_

My query was ignored. "It was the end for Duncan, you know," he said. His eyes misted. "His time was up, and if it were not for Ostagar, he would have taken his final journey to the Deep Roads of Orzammar."

I shook my head, nonplussed. "Why?"

He raised his palm slightly. "We as Grey Wardens take our final journey to the Deep Roads when we feel the end is nigh." He gazed at me, and smiled uneasily. "We know it when the end comes. Normally, we learn to ignore the nightmares. When it's the end, the nightmares return…and when they do, they are true horrors."

I pressed my lips together. "The nightmares returned for Duncan, did they."

He nodded. "Yes. When they did, he readied himself for Orzammar. We all go there in the end to fight Darkspawn, 'til death. One last blaze of glory, wot?"

"Wot," I said faintly.

He heard the despondency in my voice, and touched my ankle again. "I – I'm sorry, for what it's worth. I suppose this is something else we are forbidden to discuss until after the Joining. You can understand why, yeah?"

"I'm sure there are very few people who would join the Grey Wardens if armed with the knowledge of their imminent death. " I sighed. "It's all right, Alistair. You don't have to apologize."

We sat together in silence. After a time, he squeezed my ankle once more in farewell. "I'll leave you be, now. Get some sleep."

He stood to go, and in retrospect, I should have let him. I reached up, and took his hand. "I won't be able to sleep tonight. Will you…will you stay with me?"

He knelt before me. "You want me to spend the night with you?"

 _In for a penny, in for a pound,_ I thought. "Yes."

He frowned slightly. "This isn't how I envisioned our first night together…but I've been trying to muster the courage to ask you for what seems like weeks."

His hesitant words touched me. I wish they hadn't. "I've made it easier on you, then?"

He crawled closer to me. I lay on my bedroll, and he pressed his body against mine. The rough homespun that served as his night-clothes whispered against my skin, waking the nerve-endings there. He nuzzled my cheek. "You have."

2

He trembled.

He trembled at my touch, and tried to meet my eyes with his. It mattered not that he and I have lain with each other since his confession. Each moment we spent in each other's arms was like the first time for him. Tonight, though – tonight was different. Perhaps he instinctively knew that this game we played wasn't forever, and wanted to make that last-second connection with me before I fled from him.

These sensations he felt, these emotions – they were not new to him anymore, this…what is he to me, anyway? A man-child? A failed one? A shadow of what he once was? He was a riddle to me, a conundrum, and it was maddening. I had also paid him a great disservice, and for that I am truly sorry.

I had managed to pervert him in some way, by hardening him to this world. I'm not sure whether I had the right to change him like I did. Maker's Breath. Who in this world has the right to mold another being into something that _they_ want? He was a kind soul, before then, and thankfully he still is to an extent. If he had not been, that would have been another black mark on my conscience.

I took what he was – innocent, kind, gentle – and twisted him into something I thought I wanted. Maybe it was for the best, as his ultimate destiny was the throne. Despite all that, he retained his gentler characteristics, and lavished upon me every single kindness any other woman only dreamed of. I wish I knew why on Thedas he would choose to bestow all this kindness on the likes of me.

Still, I think he's changed. He didn't throw a tantrum when we visited the Pearl one fortnight past. He could have. I've seen him in the throes of a full-out meltdown when something wasn't as holy or as just as he deemed it should be.

When Isabela became my teacher, I offered her my body as payment. She was as interested as one who was propositioned by a total stranger _could_ be. My paramour…I had steeled myself for the storm, but his eyes glowed and his body thrummed with excitement. It was like how a child – or perhaps a simpleton – would light up on the eve of Satinalia, or during a visit to the apothecary, where licorice whips were offered by friendly counter-folk by the double-handful.

As there were no strings attached to our trinity with Isabela, he let his guard down and enjoyed himself to the fullest. It was as I truly wanted him to be – an amalgamation of the King-in-waiting I forged, and the man-child I met in Ostagar. I almost wish we stayed permanently in Denerim's Market District, if only so I could see this new side of his personality more often.

Isabela wasn't half-bad, either.

But tonight…yes, tonight.

As I drew my fingers across his belly, a harsh susurrus of air escaped from between his teeth. His muscles jumped under my ministrations, and I suppose he found courage in my touch and in his own desire. He grabbed my hand and slid it lower. He longed for this touch, for someone to caress him beside himself. I was more than willing to bow to his will – at least in this respect – as his newly found experience left me wanting him as much as he wanted me.

This desire must have waked in him a sense of purpose, and he asked me again what I needed. It's always what _I_ wanted…he never had a single thought for himself. I shook my head, then, and told him so. He laughed reflexively.

His gaze dropped to my breasts, as he wrapped my fingers closed around that which throbbed and swelled. He swallowed, grimaced almost painfully, and regarded me.

In his eyes was the pain of a thousand million deaths, a lifetime's worth of suffering…and fear. All his masks of bravado and dalliance had been laid aside in that single shining moment, all of his charming glamours…and in that one moment he became more human – more _real_ – than I had ever seen him. For all his pompous airs; for every stupid, flirty double-entendre I had to endure; it all boiled down to his need to be needed.

In his gaze, I heard him say _My love…don't hurt me…don't leave me alone…I've endured enough loneliness to last me ten lifetimes._

He said all this wordlessly, and my throat constricted. Damn him! Even as my heart responded – almost against its will – to his silent plea, I found myself encased to the neck in unholy black horror. I felt his pain; I understood it. But all the same, this strange mix of acceptance and denial submerged me, made it difficult to breathe. I knew why his love did this to me, why it made me feel as trapped as a fox in a snare…why it felt like I was forever drowning in his affection.

I didn't deserve it. Too much had happened this week for me to deserve anything save scorn.

Oh...but he was so earnest, so how could I say no? He rolled to his side, and I lay down beside him, without thinking twice. He searched my countenance; his hazel-and-blackwood eyes bore into me as he expected – nay, nearly _prayed_ – to find something that he knew, deep down, was not there. When he could not find what he sought, his brows furrowed as he buried his face in the valley between my head and shoulder. His mouth found a sensitive spot, and I molded my body to his without thinking.

I slung my arm across his middle, and his eyes caught mine again. The need that blazed from them, this almost animalistic _need,_ caused me to kindle. He drew harsh, deep breaths, as his restless fingers stroked my shoulder, my cheek, my lips; his rhythmic stroking lit the fire within.

"Let me love you," he had said. His voice was hoarse, hungry. "Let me in."

I rolled to my back, and he covered my body with his. I allowed him entrance, and he pushed himself into me. He grunted once, shuddering on the nearly imperceptible line between these sweet, trembling sensations and his little death. He dipped his head to mine and kissed me deeply. I reciprocated in kind, for by then, I had nearly lost myself to our desires.

Nearly…Maker be thanked. I retained a small shred of my horror, one tiny speck of reality remained.

 _No,_ I had thought soon after, as that now-familiar sweetness bloomed in my lower belly. _No, this is fleeting. Nothing lasts forever._

_Nothing!_

Later, he and I stood outside the tent, as the cool breeze of midnight caressed our sweat-dampened skin. The rest of our camp slept, but I wasn't fooled. Most of them knew what we had done, I was sure.

He touched my face with the tips of his fingers. "Have I told you that I loved you?"

Damn my black heart. He's told me so every _day_ …it seemed like he told me every god-damned waking hour. "I love you too," I said, through numbed lips. How could he _not_ hear the lie in my cold, dead voice? _I_ could…or so I thought.

"You see?" He dimpled at me, his eyes twinkling. "Was that so hard?"

Oh, Maker, his eyes. His love shone from them, and it was too much to bear. My heart lurched painfully in my chest. Maker save me, but he was right. It wasn't hard…it wasn't hard at all. The hell of it all was that I _had_ fallen in love with him anyway.

Would he love me, still, if he knew what I had done?

"What now?" said he, as he wrapped his arms around my shoulders.

"Come what may," I said, "we stick together. No matter what."

Andraste's shining arsehole…I wish I hadn't encouraged him.

3

Last week after supper, as we cleaned up, Leliana nudged me in the ribs with her elbow. "So…how is Alistair?"

I put my back into scouring the cook-pot. "He's fine. You saw him at dinner." I frowned at her. "Why?"

She smiled at me in that maddening way she had. "You know what I mean."

I dumped the slurry of stew remnants, Elfroot leaves, and soapwort tincture out of the cast-iron pot. "I'm afraid I don't. What on Thedas _are_ you talking about?"

Leliana rose to fetch some fresh water. When she returned, she dumped it into the pot. "You, my friend, are glowing."

I could feel my cheeks redden. "I am _not!_ "

She dimpled at me. "Oh, of _gorse_ not. I see how he is around you. You are like another person…a new person, Alistair too. And – you both must be keeping warm during these cold Ferelden nights."

I shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe so, maybe no." I dried the iron, and drew a pouch of bear-fat from my rucksack. With it, I greased the inside of the pot, and tried to hide my smile.

" _Pfft._ Maybe…maybe, yet! You are with a big, strong man like Alistair, and you go cold every night? Now _that_ is a likely story. I'm sure he is heavenly between the sheets."

We laughed together. Leliana dipped her nimble little hands into the bear-fat, and made a terrible face at the stink. Together, we finished polishing the cast-iron pot. When it gleamed with a mellow light, Leliana sat herself by the fire-pit. She motioned me over, and I obliged. Her lips twisted wryly as I sat down. "So…I'll bet that sweet, innocent Chantry boy knows his way around the _boudoir_ by now. Or does he still take directions from his fearless leader?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised," I said. "Not only can he take orders, but he comes up with some brilliant strategies of his own…some even _I_ hadn't thought of."

"How delightful." She looked up, and her tongue peeked out from behind her teeth. "Hullo, Alistair."

We both turned to Alistair, as he approached the fire-pit. "Hullo, yourself…what are you two giggling about?"

I smiled winsomely at my lover. "You, Dearest."

His eyebrows quirked once, a nervous twitch. "What about?"

Leliana fluttered her eyelashes at him. "We were talking about how you treat your woman in bed. I am happy to report that your Grey Lady finds your performance _most_ satisfactory."

"My… _performance?_ " He blushed to the roots of his hair. His eyes widened nearly as much as his jaw hung agape. "Are you two discussing our love life? What's _wrong_ with you women?" He turned on his heel, and stomped off to points unknown.

We watched him go. Leliana glanced over her shoulder at me, and her smile was arch. "Uh-oh. Looks like the Brother is going to punish you for your misdeeds…no love for you tonight." Leliana giggled merrily. "I suppose he hasn't grown up entirely yet."

"No," I said with a sigh. "He'll always be a petulant twelve year old, no matter how 'grown up' he becomes."

Leliana spread her hands in commiseration. "Such is life. All men are like that."

We enjoyed the sounds of camp together – the roar of the fire, the overlapping conversations of our comrades, the clink and slosh of bottles and skins as they changed hands. Leliana tugged at my sleeve. It jarred me from my reverie, and I turned to her. "Yes?"

"Have…have I ever told you how much I like how you wear your hair?" She clasped her arms to stay the chill of night. "It frames your face just right, and the color complements your skin and eyes. I – my own hair is a bit of a mess," she said, motioning to her own ragged bob, "but when I kept up with it, I set my hair like yours." She gazed at me from underneath her lashes. "It suits you."

I smiled. "Thank you."

4

How nimble she was.

There was something in the Chantry lay-sister that bade me come closer. I couldn't say what, really, but perhaps it was for a taste of something I usually gave a miss. It certainly wasn't the case for her. She'd gone down that path before, and it was that which she had pined for.

What made this worse is that she would have never invited me to spend the night in her tent had she not loved me. I refuse to entertain such emotions, therefore I have done her a great, evil disservice. I dragged this girl along behind me – yet another conquest, yet another notch in my belt – and _still_ she came along willingly.

I contemplated this new turn of events as I buried my face in her hair; Maker, her hair was glorious, and smelled to me of flowers and blood. She pressed her face into my shoulder. Her contented sigh told me more than mere words could ever do. Her hand rose and absently stroked my hair out of my eyes, and never mind the terrified stiffening of my body at her absentminded, sleepy display of affection. Her hand trailed down from my cheek to my belly…damn it all! This girl-child had me enraptured, kept me in thrall, and once again I fell victim to my nearly nonexistent emotions. She wrapped her free arm across my belly, and nuzzled my throat as she dozed.

Oh, she loved. In her slightest touch, in every single movement of her body against mine, was her love. How I envied her…in hindsight, perhaps this is what drew me to the sister, as well. 'Twas her desires, her need to be loved, her need to _give_ love.

Sot it all. Tell the truth and shame Old Splitfoot, my Gammer always said. After I discovered what her intentions were, I suppose what truly drew me to the bard were her nimble fingers and silver tongue – and the fact that they could be used to my great advantage outside battle.

"My darling,"my songbird had said tonight in her heavy Orlesian accent. "Love me."

How could I say no to her? 'Twould have been as difficult had I told her that this wouldn't last forever, as true as that would had been. Sometimes, I wish it were she my confused heart had chosen first, and not one of the others. She understood me in a way either of the men could not.

Unlike my Warden, she had no reason to use words of bravado to cover her nervousness. She was as talented in our tent as she was behind a lute. Our tryst began in silence, continued in silence – save our muted cries of rapture – and ended in silence. She had told me once in passing that her silence was due to her desire to keep our love to ourselves. Now I know better.

Ah, sweetness. I licked my lips, and could still taste her sweetness there. Fire kindled in the pit of my belly, but I let the girl sleep. She gave her all. She gave, until I set aflame the spark of her need and banked that fire in her soul to embers. I had exhausted her, and would not take any more from my sweet bard that night.

As I sailed to the land of Nod, the little beast I had given her trundled to our bedroll. It was chilly that night, and the creature sought the affections of his master – and warmth, besides. The nug ponderously climbed atop my bare thigh, nearly freezing me to the core with its icy little hooves. I squeaked in indignation, and Schmooples squeaked at me in response. He squirmed until he settled his tiny pink body between she and me.

 _Jealous little bastard, aren't you?_ I thought, as I snorted quiet laughter. My tiny, amused smile curdled. I absently scratched the nug behind one ear, as I frowned at my choice of words. _You remind me of a certain someone._

I turned my head to gaze at the girl. Come to think on it, she was as much at fault as I was. She knew of my pledge to my Warden, and yet, she pursued me. There's no need to wonder why. It's obvious she's as damaged as I am.

5

"Tell me about Antiva, Zev."

Oh, the Deep Roads were interminable. The Dwarven homelands were huge, spanning many miles underground. As we walked the endless Road, I couldn't help but feel as if we were treading through a graveyard. In a manner of speaking, we were.

My companions regularly changed conversational partners; sometimes, Leliana would talk shop with Zevran, Alistair would seek out Wynne for advice or maybe to darn one of his socks, and Sten would walk in companionable silence with Shale, our golem-cum-walking-battering-ram. Zevran walked with me that day.

He chuckled. "Again?"

"Yes, again. I was wondering…do you miss Antiva?"

He crossed his arms. "Of course. I miss the sights and smells of what I once called home."

"It's still your home, Zev." I sighed. "I know what it's like to long for home, but home is where you hang your cloak. You were never meant to be a homebody."

"Truer words were never spoken, my friend," he said. "I may not ever make it back to Antiva, but you helped me with my homesickness, in part."

I simpered slightly. "The boots?"

He stuck one of his booted feet out before him, and waggled it. "You have no idea how close this took me to home. I'll never be able to repay you for this."

We walked in silence for a while, then: "I have a question for you, Warden." I nodded for him to continue. "When this is all over, what will become of me?"

"You?" I scratched my nose thoughtfully. "Is this before or after I ravish your body in celebration?"

His eyes lit up. " _Really!_. Well, that is food for thought…but no, I'm being serious.” Without taking his eyes off the road, Zev added, “For now. I know I am bound by my word to you, to help eradicate Darkspawn and fell the Archdemon and spell the end of this Blight and all. But when that is over and done with, what then?" He tilted his head at me. "Am I free to go?"

I pursed my lips in mock-consideration. "Mmm. You would be free to go, if you like." I turned, and gazed at him candidly. "I could certainly think of a few things a handsome elf could do here, if you so wish it."

He returned my candor. "Do you, now."

6

He had me, but not for long.

I must be mad. This man once tried to kill me, and now I lay with him. Despite all that, I think we could have made a perfect pair: neither one of us wanted permanent ties, neither one of us wanted to love. But I can almost see into his heart of hearts; I can see where this would have lead, had either of us allowed this travesty to go any further. I could see how his emotions had swung polar-opposite to what they once were. I could sense his struggle within, and knew our time was short.

Come what may, I realized that this would be our last night together.

He lay sprawled across our bedroll, and curled his finger at me. A slow, languid smile crept across his face. "Come," he said. "Would you like to play?"

My own amused grin felt false on my chops. I silently acquiesced, and knelt before his compact, sculpted frame. As pleasant as it was lying with my little Crow, I would find no physical comfort with him after love. No, his wiry body was nothing like my Warden's, or the girl's – at the very least, the Warden's body gave me some small comfort when he wrapped his powerful arms 'round me. That is, until I choked on his chest hair. And my little bard could be as cuddly and stifling as her damned nug when she wanted to be.

The fact that the elf once held me at emotional arm's length was comforting in and of itself. But that was of little consequence, now.

I straddled his lap, and guided him home. He sighed once, as his lips touched the hollow of my throat. He moved slowly with me and within me, the way he liked it…the way we both liked it. He molded his narrow chest to mine, never once losing rhythm, never once meeting my eyes with his own.

It was perfect, this understanding we had with each other. But things change – things _always_ change, do they not?

His gaze crept up to mine, and beheld me for one breathless, gravid moment. His eyebrows drew together, twitching, until he could bear it no longer. His eyes widened, lost in mine, before he tore his gaze away and stared over my shoulder. His eyes remained fixed on the far corner of our tent. He would not look at me until after he reveled in his own sweet death.

When it was over, he did not lay beside me and speak of sweet trivialities, as was his wont. He did not kiss the corner of my lips and blithely thank me for the fun, as was also his wont. After love, he rose to his feet and quickly dressed. He strode to the aperture of the tent, his mouth working soundlessly. Before he could sweep the flap open, he stopped and beheld me from the corner of his eye. His face bore dismay, and confusion.

Instead of his customary _until next time, my sweet_ , he just stared at me. He could not bear my baffled countenance for very long. He tipped his gaze to the tent floor, and steeled himself for the penultimate words he would ever speak to me.

"We shall talk tomorrow," he said to his boot-tops, and left.

7

I woke early the next morning, hours before sunrise, to a commotion outside my tent. I rubbed the sand from my eyes, and with a start I realized what the noise was – voices. Voices were raised in anger outside my tent. It wasn't difficult to tell who they were. Gasping, I donned my clothes and ran outside.

Five paces from my tent, Alistair and Zevran stood nose to nose, shouting angrily at each other. Their hands had curled into fists, their faces were flushed with fury.

"Why must you step between us, when it was obvious we had pledged ourselves to one another?" Alistair said. He bared his teeth. "You've made your intentions clear in regards to us both…were you jealous we didn't invite you to our bed?"

"Verily," said Zevran, rolling his eyes outrageously. "I've held no false hope that you'd play with me. It's obvious you are not interested, Alistair. And besides…if it means anything to you, I _was_ invited."

Hot, angry blood crashed into Alistair's face, until he looked apoplectic with rage. "You dare stand there and accuse her…?"

Panicked, I scanned the camp, and it didn't surprise me to find Leliana sobbing helplessly by the fire-pit. The coals lit her face, and my heart sank. There was despondency in those tears. My throat constricted when the truth barreled into me full-force. My world was about to come crashing down around my ears.

I had been found out.

"Stop," I whispered. No one heeded me.

"I accuse no one," said Zevran. "I am merely stating fact." He glanced over Alistair's shoulder at me, and inclined his head. "Ask the Warden herself."

Alistair's head whipped about, and all traces of color dropped from his cheeks until they resembled an old, washed out bed-sheet. "Please…please tell me this isn't true."

I stood before them, mute. I would not lie, but I could not answer. So I remained silent.

His reaction was piteous. He searched my face for the truth to Zevran's accusations, and when Alistair found it, he turned his countenance aside. He squeezed his eyes shut, and moaned through his clenched teeth. It was as if I held his living, beating heart in my hand, and had suddenly shattered it in my clenched fist. Now that I think on it, I suppose I had.

He recovered his equilibrium quickly. He pressed his lips together until his mouth was a thin, white line. When Alistair turned back to me, his face was expressionless. "So. It seems you've had an interesting week," he said, his tone light, icy.

"It also seems you have some explaining to do," said Zevran. "I'd like to know how you managed to bamboozle all three of us. I am _not_ an idiot."

"Nor am I," said Leliana, as she approached we three. She appraised me coldly. "There is a lot one determined woman can do in a week, Zev...like keep three separate trysts a secret."

"That's neither here nor there," said Alistair. "You need to choose. You hold my heart – as broken as it is – in the palm of your hand. I would think that would make your decision easier. I warn you, I won't be party to… _this_." He waved his hand at Zev and Leliana in a haughty, dismissive manner. "It's either them or me."

"You have _no_ right to demand that!" Leliana pointed a shaking finger at Alistair. "She holds my heart too. What is the difference between you and I…or the difference between you and Zevran, for that matter?"

Alistair tilted his head back on his neck, as if asking the maker for strength. He glared at Leliana. "I was _first!_ She pledged herself to me, and I won't be cuckolded for either of you." Alistair narrowed his eyes at Zevran. "And besides, this one doesn't love her. Zev wanted her body, nothing more. He knows nothing about true affection."

"Do _not_ make presumptions about what lies beneath, Warden." Zevran had become deadly pale under his swarthy complexion. "You know nothing of me, or how I feel about this." He stopped, and his amber eyes bored into mine. "Not that it matters anymore."

I looked at the patch of grass between my feet, and said nothing.

Alistair balled his hands into fists. "I know enough about you to see you are a no good, murdering whoremaster. I honestly didn't expect any less from you."

Zevran backhanded Alistair. I gasped, as Alistair stumbled back a pace. He pressed the heel of his hand against his split lip, and glared at Zevran. "Try that again, and I'll kill you."

"Try me – but make sure you get the job done the first time." Zev spread his hands. "You have to fall asleep eventually, Warden."

"Stop, please," I whispered again. Alistair tipped his gaze in my direction, and I saw in his eyes one emotion I _never_ thought would be aimed at me: disgust.

"I _won't_ ," said Alistair. "This ends now. I need to know who you will choose."

"You cannot demand something like that!" Leliana stepped to my side, and hugged my arm close. "She would need time to think about it."

Alistair sneered, and the expression looked so alien on his sweet, well-loved face. "I _can._ I have _every_ right. She and I have vowed to stay together, no matter what the cost. Can you say the same thing?"

Leliana disengaged herself from my arm, sniffled once, and rubbed her eye with her knuckles. She glanced sidelong at me. "We have not pledged ourselves to each other. So...no, I cannot."

He ran his hands through his hair, until it stood up at odd angles. "You _knew_ , Leliana. You knew she and I had pledged our love. You've commented on it more than once. How could you stand there, and cry your crocodile tears? You are as much at fault as _she_ is!"

She shook her head. "I…"

"Were you jealous?" Alistair crossed his arms across his chest. "You're too late. If she had chosen to be with you first, I would have given my blessing, and bowed out of the relationship." He stared flatly at Leliana. "Like _you_ ought to, now."

"You are mistaken," said Leliana. "If she and I had decided to start a relationship before she encouraged you, _you_ wouldn't have even been involved with her. And for the record," she finished, "your tongue would wag the moment you found out. You are a catty, nasty gossip…and close-minded, besides."

"I am _not!_ " Alistair's voice rose. "You're missing the clearing for the trees."

Zevran cleared his throat. "I think you mean 'you're missing the forest for the trees', but I digress. _Both_ of you are missing the point. This particular boil needs to come to a head. Now." His eyes were like shards of icy topaz, as they settled upon me. "Our fearless leader needs to make a choice."

They all made noises of grudging acquiescence. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the rest of our friends gathered by the dying light of the fire-pit. They sleepily went about the mechanics of breaking camp. 'Twas two hours earlier than we'd normally do so, but there would be no more sleep for them. They would not look at us, but I was keenly aware that they were listening intently to every word we said. It shamed me more than being caught by my lovers. I knew that their mouths would run come morning light.

A pair of golden eyes turned from the fire, and rested on me. The owner of said eyes regarded me solemnly, before she closed one eye in a crafty wink. Her elegant eyebrows arched, and she grinned maliciously. _"Bra-vo, Warden,"_ she mouthed. I tore my gaze away, no longer able to meet those knowing, disconcerting eyes.

When I turned back to my three friends, they stared back expectantly. What could I say to them? They knew I would only choose one; they knew that their chances of being picked were slim. I shut my eyes tightly. "Zev…Leliana…I'm sorry."

There were no more tears for Leliana that night. Her face set in stone, she nodded slowly. "I see," she said. She took a deep breath, and regarded me. "Good night, Warden." She strode to her tent, her head held high.

Zevran grinned ruefully at the patch of grass between his feet. "Imagine that. Just last night, I was contemplating just how to leave _you_ gracefully."

My jaw dropped to my breastbone. _"What?"_

"I never forge permanent ties with my playmates. It's too much baggage, you see. But you…you were different, my friend. I have found happiness with you. Unfortunately, my views have not changed. My love for you has become claustrophobic. Had... _this_...not happened," he said with a wave of his hand at Alistair, "I would have ended our relationship myself."

I did not speak. I _could_ not speak.

He continued. "I might have come to terms with this, eventually. We might have had a beautiful relationship. As it stands, though, you have spurned me, so I wash my hands of you. Forever." He turned on one heel, and stomped to his tent.

When our little one-act play concluded, our captive audience dispersed for their belongings. The camp filled with the sounds of gathered effects and the hiss of the doused fire-pit and of rustling rucksacks as effects were packed. Soon enough, Alistair and I gravitated toward the abandoned, cold fire-pit and stood there, alone. He gazed at me frankly. "Why…why did you do it? No excuses."

I stood before him, and wondered how I could make him see the situation through my eyes. I couldn't think of a single thing to tell him to put him at ease. I settled on the truth. "I resented you."

Alistair blinked. "What? _Why?_ I don't understand."

"I…I resented you for not telling me about the Taint, and what it did to our life-span. By agreeing to this, I signed my own death warrant…and you said nothing." I gazed at him, and was taken aback by the horror-stricken expression on his face.

I pushed myself to continue. "You had nothing to do with my agreement with Duncan, but you withheld the truth from me and it made me furious with you. Duncan is dead, so I couldn't rage at him. I needed to vent that fury, and you were the only Warden save me that was left in Ferelden. But…I could not hurt you directly. I _would_ not."

He took a deep, watery breath. "But you _did._ " He passed a shaking hand over his mouth. "If you had just talked to me about this, none of this would have happened. I don't know if I could have helped you with your anger, but it's understood that every Grey Warden has felt this way in one way, shape, or form.

"I never expected you to lash out at me. Not like this," he finished. "You didn't just hurt me. You hurt two of our closest friends. These people are – _were_ – like family to us." He sucked at his broken lip contemplatively. "Still, you chose me, at the cost of those two friendships. That's something, at least.” He laughed once, a lost sound. “In fact, I almost feel honored."

I let the glib, biting comment pass. "You've fallen out of love with me…haven't you."

His eyes touched mine, fleetingly. "No. I love you, and I always will." He fetched a sigh. "No matter how much time I have left on Thedas, I'll always love you…because that's forever."

He glanced at his feet, and danced on the edge of what he really wanted to tell me. After many pregnant moments of fighting with his conscience, he looked at me. What I saw in his countenance made me feel ill. He tilted his head to one side, and favored me with a charming, sad smile as his eyes filled with tears. "I'll never trust you again."

It felt as if I had swallowed a lead ball. I wrapped my arms around my middle, and choked on the truth. "Please," I stammered. "Please…"

He laughed again, not much more than a small chuff of air. He continued, as if I had never spoken. "I always thought love and trust were one and the same, but…in light of recent events, I think they're almost mutually exclusive, you know? I'm not even sure if there is a connection between the two anymore. Live and learn, right?"

The corners of his mouth turned down, suddenly, and he covered his eyes with one hand. He bowed his head, his throat working. My own tears had begun, then, and I touched Alistair's quivering arm. Without removing his hand from his face, he jerked his arm out of my gentle grasp.

"No. You're not allowed to comfort me," he said. His quavering voice broke me, and I sat down hard. I surged forward, and wrapped my arms around his calf. He allowed me that much, at least. We stayed that way for some time – he stood by our dead fire-pit, swaying and sobbing into his scarred hands…and I crouched at his feet, my legs tangled 'round his ankles, keening.

Maker's Breath. What have I done? I finally found love, only to have it yanked out from under me. I have no right to complain, as this travesty was of my own doing.

After a time, he disengaged himself from my death-grip. He simply stepped out of my encircling arms and walked away. I felt myself wilt to the dense grass. I lay there with no desire to rise and trudge, defeated, to my tent. I knew what awaited me there. Even after everything was said and done, I think Alistair and I will still manage to share something in these final few hours of night. He – just like me – will curl into a ball on the floor of his tent and cry himself into a fitful, restless sleep.

I may not know much of anything anymore, but I am quite sure that those tears will be bitter.

_Bitter._

**Author's Note:**

> Well. My Warden…isn't very nice, is she?
> 
> A few notes. I am aware that Alistair could probably lay Zevran out with a single 'who's your Daddy' punch, especially if Zevran up and baggage-slapped him. He simply exhibited enormous self-control. Also, a small aside about grown men with no visible body hair…it scaresssss usssss. Why in the world are the men hairless in this game? Alistair is going to be a MAN in my stories and have body hair - unless someone can point out (on Ye Olde Thedas Map) where the beauty salon is that Alistair goes to get waxed.


End file.
